Your arm is wrapped tightly around my bicep, your head on my shoulder. We walk together in a cadence of rhythmic footsteps. My every word touches you. We are connected as one, I take your breath away.
It’s a warm dark night for a streetwalker. The gas lamps only show a shadow of your face and your identity is unknown. I’m barely dressed, almost naked and vulnerable. Putting myself out there hoping to entice you to share this intimate moment.
I speak volumes as I’m hoping you hear my voice. My words are chosen carefully to engage your emotions. With passion and a willingness to give you pleasure, I continue to speak.
As I look into your eyes I’m seeing a spark as I hope to ignite a flame in your soul. Cars pass by, potential new business yet I’m completely immersed at this moment with you. Right now, I am yours, completely vulnerable yet trusting.
We walk down a dark alleyway and prepare for our intimate engagement and we see the reflection of light off the cobblestone streets. My eyes struggle to adjust because I’m longing to see your face.
You say nothing, silent and still. I squint my eyes as I continue to speak, my words of nakedness and honesty. Closer I move towards you and reach out my hand to touch yours as I’m hoping we still have this connection.
My footsteps and soft delicate words are the only sounds to be heard because I no longer hear your breath. Are you still engaged in our intimate moment?
I slowly move closer in an attempt to feel your presence only to find you are no longer there. I’ve lost another one.
Wiping the tears from my eyes I readjust my emotions and proudly walk back onto that gas lite street hoping another passerby will stop so we can engage in intimacy.
For I am a writer, a servant to the faceless, silent, and unknown. My passion placed onto every word hoping for a moment of intimacy so I can stop your breath.
